Dissonance
by DarkUnderworld
Summary: Raphael is bribed to get Michelangelo out of the lair to give his two other brothers some peace and quiet, things were going so well until they weren't, and a single sound that shattered the silence of the night caused Raphael's heart to miss a beat.


**Hello all, just a one-shot here for you all, hope you enjoy it.**

**Plot bunny courtesy of Amonraphoenix who also beta read the chapter for me, thank you so much! XD You are beyond awesome!**

**The usual discalimer I don't own TMNT...*sob* I just...don't want to think about it...*sniff***

**Anywho...**

**One with the show! XD**

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Dissonance

His breath exited through his numb lips in a harsh exhalation of white vapour followed by a quick inhalation, the coppery taste of his own blood in his mouth as he shifted slightly. His muscles bunched as adrenalin pumped through his veins, his skin tingling with the exhilaration of battle, laced with the faint hint of fear that tasted like electricity on his tongue.

Raphael wondered, very briefly, how he had missed the solitary shadows moving like spilled ink across darkened alleys and shrouded buildings, ever so slowly gaining ground upon him, but the truth was, he knew.

Michelangelo, his exuberant and incredibly annoying brother, had distracted him completely.

After driving Donatello and Leonardo completely up the wall with his stir crazy antics, Leonardo had all but begged Raphael to get Michelangelo out of the lair. It wasn't that Raphael was enjoying Michelangelo's pranks, or hyperactivity brought on by extreme boredom, but he was willing to bite the bullet as it were in order to be able to negotiate certain privileges from his oldest brother.

A wide, satisfied smile having slid across his pleased features, Raphael suggested to his baby brother that they go see a movie.

Michelangelo's features had undergone a rapid shift, from, mischievous intent to exited joy. His brother had practically vibrated with the opportunity to go topside for something other than training missions or patrol.

For a minute Michelangelo's grin had faltered, questioning if Leonardo was really okay with them going out in public and seeing a movie.

Raphael had shrugged, yanking out clothing that they had accumulated but seldom wore for situations when they wished to blend in with the human population and throwing it at his brother to wear.

Hunching over, wracked with the obvious excitement to see a movie on a movie theatre, Michelangelo hesitated, not wanting to be on the receiving end of one of Leonardo's lectures or punishments, Raphael had reassured him that Leonardo had said it was okay.

Michelangelo had whooped, throwing his clothing over his body, covering the medal he had received from becoming Battle Nexus champion with a dark maroon hoodie. Raphael had shaken his head, still annoyed by the fact that Michelangelo continued to use each and every opportunity he could to rub it in all of their faces that he, the least disciplined and serious one, had come out victorious.

Having readied themselves and dressed in coats, gloves, hats and mitts, Raphael had pocketed some cash before they stole out into the wintery night.

Out of all of them, Michelangelo was the most comfortable with being in the company of humans who were not their friends. Having paid for the tickets and ordering from the concession, Michelangelo had talked incessantly in a bright and chipper voice, while Raphael's eyes had darted around, constantly on alert, almost waiting for some a human to discover them.

This had not happened and they had made their way into the darkened theatre, and Raphael had finally allowed himself to relax, cloaked in the comforting gloom of the theatre.

Allowing himself to let his guard down, he had settled back in his seat, absorbed completely in the gladiator-esque style movie playing upon the large screen before him.

Leaving the theatre through the throng of prattling humans talking about the film they had just watched, Raphael had to listen to Michelangelo boast how the hero of the movie was very much like him, incessantly reminding Raphael that he was the winner, and Raphael had lost.

At this taunting goad, not the first he had heard over the past several months, Raphael was sorely tempted to take the medal and shove it down his baby brother's throat.

Irritation had distracted him to the point where he didn't notice that he and his brother were surrounded by five Purple Dragons until one, with a voice as smooth as an oil-slick had asked him for his wallet.

Able to turn his annoyance from his baby brother to a more worthy opponent, one Leonardo would not tear a strip out of his hide for beating the tar out of, Raphael had happily complied with the Purple Dragon's apparent death wish.

It wasn't long before the Purple Dragons realized who they had accosted on the street, an everyday mugging turning into a life or death, kill or be killed struggle.

Five Purple Dragons to vent his frustrations on seemed like poor fare, until they called in reinforcements. Suddenly, they were outnumbered and neither he nor Michelangelo was able to take even a brief moment to call either of their other two siblings to let them know that they were in trouble, and needed help desperately.

Leaping forward, Raphael's tired muscles burning as he lashed out with his foot leveling a devastating spin kick to the jaw of the crowbar wielding punk in front of him. The crowbar clattered to the ground and Raphael was tempted to continue his assault upon his now unarmed assailment, because he had only moments before, broken Michelangelo's arm.

The crack of metal shattering bone had somehow manage to pierce the fervent sound of frantic blood rushing through his ears, the strangled scream torn from his brother's throat echoing off of the red brick walls that made up the alley they were trapped in.

Both sounds had turned his stomach over, hot bile crawling up his throat as anger and thirst for revenge burned through his veins.

He took a step towards the Purple Dragon, his fist raised in fury, about to leap in pursuit of the human who had stumbled back under his assault, but a gasp of pain from his left had him stepping back, revenge forgotten as he swung around, his gaze assessing the situation as he tried to protect his baby brother who still valiantly fought, even though Raphael could see the strain of his pale features, the beads of sweat upon his brow revealed to his sight after Michelangelo's hat had been knocked from his head by a particularly wicked punch to the face.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to keep his attention on his brother, but an endless wave of armed Purple Dragons seemed intent on doing their best to not only take his attention away from his brother, but to separate them completely.

Stars suddenly exploded before his eyes and he felt himself stumble. Michelangelo's, panicked call of his name rang in his ears as is vision darkened around the edges and he fought to keep conscious.

Clenching his teeth together, the bite of copper still present upon his tongue, he ignored his inner voice which whispered that the taste he felt was not blood, but fear, and it was dark and bitter in his mouth.

Spitting blood upon the ground, his vision sharpened and her scraped his bloodied knuckles across his mouth, smirking as he focused upon the Purple dragon who carried an iron pipe in one hand, a self satisfied smirk pulling up one edge of his thin lips, dark dirty blonde hair hanging over one eye.

Launching himself forward, Raphael watched as the pipe arced down towards him. Easily deflecting the blow with his sais, he kicked out, winding a Purple dragon who had tried to get the drop on his from behind.

Pushing the Purple Dragon with the pipe backwards, Raphael's attention wavered, darting around, searching for Michelangelo, the brother who he was supposed to be protecting and who he had lost sight of while he had struggled to remain conscious.

His head darted around, frantically searching, catching a flash of bright orange out of the corner of his eye to his left, his head swung around, but a steel toed boot caught him squarely in the plastron, doubling him over, causing him to lose track of the twin tails of his brother's mask.

Falling back, he straightened, breathing heavily, his rapid breaths coming out in plumes of white mist that hung momentarily in the air before vanishing, his muscles burning, the adrenalin still humming through his veins as he realized that the crowd that had swarmed them had thinned enough to be able to discern an end to the impromptu street brawl.

About to claim retribution upon the sneering, dark haired man in front of him, the clap of a gunshot shattered the sounds of panting grunts and traded blows that had filled the night, turning Raphael's veins to ice.

Whipping around, his eyes wide with terror, knowing that he had not been hit and fearing that the gun had not been aimed in his direction, he caught sight of a tall lanky man holding a 9mm pointed right at him.

Out of the very corner of his eye, he could just make out a splash of orange spilling across the damp asphalt a few feet away, the silence of the night, filled with surprised shock, seemed to press down on his heart as his lungs are suddenly squeezed in an invisible vice-like grip.

With shaking fingers, the man cocked the gun, a sound Raphael had missed the first time, preparing to shot him.

At the first sight of the gun, Raphael's body had already started to react without his conscious mind being aware of his actions. As the gun was cocked, Raphael had already thrown his sai at the man, knocking the offending weapon from his hand.

Molten fury, brought about by the gut wrenching, sick, twisting fear writhing in his gut that his unmoving brother had thrown himself in the way of a bullet to protect him, boiled through him.

Letting out a feral roar, he charged forward, mercy a thing that would not be given this night.

Turning tail, the Purple Dragon who had wielded the gun ran as if sensing that if Raphael got his hands on him, he would not survive the encounter.

The remaining Purple Dragons, understanding the danger they were suddenly in when confronted by the seething rage that filled the red-masked mutant, opted to retreat, dragging their unconscious and injured brethren with them.

Raphael stopped his pursuit, pulling up short when his boot caught the grip of the gun sending it flying into a dark corner of the alley. Panting hard, his breaths more like wheezing, choked gasps which to his own ears almost resembled sobs, he bent down, dragging his sai from the ground, placing both through his belt before he forced his head to turn, looking over his shoulder.

He had hoped that Michelangelo would be sitting up, giving him a pained grin as he joked that the night at the movies had been way more risky than their patrols, but instead, he encountered a sight he wish he hadn't.

Lying in a crumpled, motionless ball upon the ground, was his baby brother.

He felt as if he was suddenly drowning, unable to take a breath as his leaden feet managed to take a step in Michelangelo's direction, shaking his head in disbelief.

Swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, he was unable to get it down, his throat having completely closed up.

Legs moving faster, propelled by the sudden urgency to confirm something he did not wish to know, he found himself falling hard to his knees at his brother's side.

"Okay, Mikey, time to stop playin' games," he urged in a shaking voice that was much too high and laden with desperation.

Michelangelo did not move or even acknowledge his presence. Reaching out with a hand that trembled he touched his brother's shoulder gently, the arm having been cradled to Michelangelo's body only a few moments before in pain.

Blinking back the tears that suddenly misted before his eyes, his breath caught on a sob as he turned his limp brother onto his carapace.

Being a mutant turtle had many advantages. Their torsos were armoured and their skin was thicker than a human's allowing them increased protection from the brutal and violent lives they led. They were able to take much more damage than a human could, and survive many beatings that would kill a human, but even their hardened keratin shells could not protect them from a bullet.

Time seemed to stop and he felt himself grow cold. In the center of Michelangelo's chest he could see the bullet hole, tiny pieces of white fluff from the lining of Michelangelo's dark winter jacket fanning the torn and jagged circle.

Tearing at Michelangelo's jacket, the zipper busting loose he felt as if he was hyperventilating. He was breathing too fast, white puffs of air crystallizing before fading from view, his vision blurred by the tears that now flowed down his cheeks as he repeated to himself over and over that it wasn't true. His baby brother could not be dead. If any one of them deserved to take a bullet, it was him. He was the one who had agreed to drag Michelangelo from the lair; he was the one who had suggested the movie; he was the one who had not been paying attention, letting his anger and frustration at his brother's teasing words get under his skin; he was the one who hadn't noticed the gun. It was all his fault and he…

Fisting his hands into the fabric of Michelangelo's coat, he let out a choked sob at the sight of another bullet hole, this one through his brother's hoodie right over his heart.

Letting go of the jacket, Raphael felt himself sit back on his haunches, a black wave of grief slamming into him. His body felt numb, his heart slamming against his ribcage as if attempting to seek some sort of freedom from the nightmare that he found himself living.

But it was no nightmare, but rather, a sick and twisted reality where his baby brother, the one he swore to protect, had dove in front of a bullet to protect _him_.

Shaking his head, trying to dislodge the cold numbness that had frozen his motions, he pulled his sai from his belt, tearing the tip through the cotton fabric to expose his brother's chest, because even though the evidence lay right before his eyes, he refused to accept his brother's death. He couldn't accept it, because if he did, he felt as if he would shatter into a thousand pieces and would no longer to be whole again.

Tearing the maroon fabric away with his hands, he stared in shock at his brother's medal, the one he had imagined shoving down his brother's throat, lying over Michelangelo's heart, warped and containing the bullet that should have killed him.

Brushing the medal out of the way, not allowing himself to breath, he could see his brother's plastron was completely undamaged.

Dragging a hand across his eyes, brushing away the cold wetness that stained his cheeks, he reached out and found his brother's pulse at his throat, steady and strong.

Allowing himself to breathe, he knew that his brother was unconscious, whether this was from the bullet or something else, he wasn't sure.

Being careful of Michelangelo's broken arm, he checked him over for other injuries. Besides various cuts and bruises, he found a large lump at the base of his skull, most likely received when his brother had made a mad leap in front of the bullet and after being hit, came crashing to the ground hard obviously smashing his head in the process.

A soft groan escaped Michelangelo's slightly parted lips and Raphael's attention was riveted to his brother's face.

Michelangelo's eyes fluttered open, his brows pulling into a frown of confusion before a whimper of pain exited his mouth.

"Take it easy, Mikey," he soothed, eyes again misting with tears, though this time, they were tears of relief and joy.

"You okay?" Michelangelo asked as Raphael helped his struggling brother to sit up.

"Me?" he asked his voice turning into an angry growl. "What the hell were you thinkin? Jumping in front of a bullet! Are you insane or just trying to get yourself killed?" he snarled angrily, feeling the need to vent his horror and fears now that he knew that his baby brother was alright.

"No time to warn you," Michelangelo breathed out, a self-depreciating grin crossing his features as his eyes slammed closed in a wince.

"Then you let me get shot!" he bit out angrily.

"Raph-"

"NO!" he barked, "I'm the older brother, I protect _you_. Got that? I keep _you_ safe; you don't go getting yourself almost killed!"

"It doesn't work that way, Raphie," Michelangelo ground out through teeth clenched in pain.

About to refute this observation, he instead cried out, "Mikey!" as his brother slumped slightly in his grip.

"M'kay," Michelangelo bit out. "Just…arm hurts, chest hurts too."

Slinging Michelangelo's uninjured arm across his shoulders, Raphael gently heaved his brother from the ground. "I'll getchya back to the lair," he promised, knowing that the fast he was able to get home, the sooner Donatello would be able to help Michelangelo.

Michelangelo only grunted in acknowledgement.

Sliding a worried glance over to Michelangelo's face, he could see his brother's pale face was pulled into taunt lines of pain, his eyes screwed tightly shut.

"You deserved it," Raphael observed after a few moments of walking slowly in silence his mind scrambling for a way of taking his brother's mind off of the pain he was enduring.

"I thought you said I wasn't supposed to get myself shot?" Michelangelo asked in confusion.

"What?" he asked in bewilderment before he realized how his words had sounded. "I mean…the medal. You deserved to win the Battle Nexus," he admitted softly.

His brother's attention had been caught and this seemed to distract him from his injuries for the moment. "Really?" Michelangelo asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," he answered without any sort of hesitation. Although it had stung to admit defeat and recognize that his baby brother had actually handled himself quite well during the tournament, Raphael was willing to acknowledge that it was jealousy that had stopped him from admitting that his brother had deserved the title.

That and the damn chunk of metal that lay against his brother's plastron had just saved his life and so Raphael knew he could never look upon his brother's victory with anything other than gratefulness from now on.

"Thanks, Raphie," Michelangelo said, his voice soft and pleased.

Raphael grunted, his brother's weight secure and comforting at his side.

"You wrecked my jacket and hoodie," Michelangelo suddenly observed and Raphael felt himself stop in his progress to the nearest manhole cover.

"You're seriously complainin' about me tryin' to save your life?" he breathed out completely aghast.

"Just realizing…that even though you are all, big macho turtle that doesn't exactly express his feelings at _all_, that…you _looooove_ me." Michelangelo grinned at him cheekily and Raphael found himself narrowing his eyes in mock anger.

"Shut up, Knucklehead," he growled, his voice not containing any heat or bite.

Michelangelo let out a small chuckle that turned into a gasp of pain as Raphael had begun moving again. "You okay?" he asked, slowing his pace, wanting to get his brother back to the lair as fast as possible, but not wanting to hurt him in the process.

"Yeah." Michelangelo slumped a little more in his grip and Raphael reached down, sliding his arm beneath his brother's knees so that he was able to pick him up in his arms.

Able to move more quickly, he strode forward. "Just hold on," he murmured, rejecting the manhole cover and instead heading for the warehouse that housed the hidden elevator down into their garage.

"But I guess, the bullet hole kinda ruined the jacket and hoodie anyway," Michelangelo muttered thoughtfully.

"Yeah," he agreed as he looked at his brother's features still pulled into lines of pain.

"But the bullet holes totally would have given me some serious street cred," Michelangelo whined, trying to hide the fact that his body was tense and that every move that Raphael made caused him pain.

"Mikey, you're Battle Nexus champion, you got enough street cred," Raphael observed wryly, trying to keep his voice upbeat and his brother awake, because he was pretty sure that Michelangelo had suffered at the very least a concussion. It was also possible that he had suffered broken ribs as well, but he wouldn't know for sure until Donatello had a look at him.

Michelangelo let out a bark of a laugh, and complained, "Ouch, don't make me laugh." Looking down at his brother, he could detect a hint of mischief below the pain, and Raphael felt himself smile, knowing instinctively that his baby brother was safe, alive and was going to be alright.

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**Hope you all enjoyed and gave you the warm and fuzzies, because sometimes, you need a little brotherly fluff! XD**


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